Leilah Babirye

PLUS MAGAZINE: Your sculptures are composed of debris collected from the streets of New York, intentionally using discarded materials to echo the pejorative term ‘abasiyazi.’ How do you feel this transformation of ‘rubbish’ into art challenges societal perceptions of LGBTQI identities, and what personal resonance does this process hold for you?

LEILAH BABIRYE: There are a number of reasons I use found materials. In the beginning, that was all I could afford. Coming from Uganda, we tend to reuse and repurpose things. However, in New York, people throw out all types of items and leave them out on the street for free. When I’m walking around New York and see a rusted piece of metal, it’s beautiful to me. It inspires a new sculpture or might fit into something I’m already working on. Being queer, sometimes we’re made to feel discarded by society as if we are trash. My work rejects that hateful mindset. I’m here to say, “You are beautiful.”

P: In your loosely rendered portraits, you capture vivid, colorful depictions of members of your community. How do you approach the challenge of conveying the essence of an individual through your distinctive artistic lens, and what do you hope viewers take away from these portraits?

LB: For my drawings, I pull inspiration from friends, activists, and members of the LGBTQ+ community. It ranges from people I know in real life to photographs I see or sometimes more archetypal figures. I think about their attitude and aura, as well as how they present themselves through hairstyles, makeup, and accessories. I love the creativity of drag queens, trans men, and trans women. I want people to feel encouraged to embrace who they are after seeing my portraits. Whether I’m carving in wood, sculpting in clay, or painting on paper, all of these portraits are part of the larger “Kuchu” (a Ugandan slang term for queer people) Clan I’m building in my work. My portraits on paper are part of my “Identity Card” series, which points specifically to the challenges Queer people and African people can have trying to move through the world with visas and borders. I hope the viewers connect to these stories.

P: The choice of sugarcane husks, ceramics, and metal carries deep symbolic weight in your art. How do you select and integrate these materials to enhance the narrative of each piece, and what emotional significance do they carry for you?

LB: The sugarcane husk is a symbol or concept, not a material I directly use in my work. The sugarcane husk, or “abasiyazi,” became a derogatory term for gay people in Uganda because the husk is considered trash. Sometimes my personal narrative is embedded into the materials. When I first came to the US, I collected cans to make ends meet. In many of my works, I use cut-up aluminum cans. I also used to work as a bike messenger for food delivery apps. During this time, I would see bicycle tires and inner tubes discarded in heaps at the bike repair stores. I started using them as art materials. Now, I weave the tires into braids piled high on the heads of my wood and ceramic sculptures.

P: Your exhibition at the De Young Museum marks a significant milestone in your career (your first solo museum show in the United States). How has this opportunity allowed you to reflect on your journey as an artist, and what themes or messages do you hope to impart to the museum’s audience?

LB: It’s an exciting milestone for me. I feel immense gratitude to be able to share my vision via the museum. The exhibition features a dozen of my works, ranging from small to very large, representing the development of my practice from 2019-2024. My works are also woven through the museum’s permanent African art collection to create a conversation spanning hundreds of years. Both my goal as the artist and Natasha Becker’s goal as the museum’s Curator of African Art is to show people that queerness has always existed in the African diaspora. Some of the ancient works play with gender and sexuality in a way similar to my own sculptures. The ambiguity allows a vast range of people to feel connected with the work. I hope that visitors go through the exhibition feeling a sense of empowerment and open-mindedness. So far, it seems that the audience is impressed by how far the materials are pushed. They’re excited by the range of found objects and trash incorporated into the work, subverting their expectations of what they expect from fine art. Visitors have also been very intrigued by my 8-foot ceramic sculpture Baawala from the Kuchu Mamba (Lungfish) Clan due to its size and intricate glaze.